


Bouquet with a kunai

by Dekownica



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Modern AU, barista sub zero, florista scorpion, what else do you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekownica/pseuds/Dekownica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe in another universe both of them were fighters, ruthless assassins, protectors of the realm, etc, but in this reality Raiden never appears personally on the Earth and no one was taught to be a warrior. An eccentric florist Hanzo Hasashi loses his job thanks to a nasty client. His vengeance lands on Kuai Liang, a barista from a nearby coffee shop, who apparently is everything but guilty. The outcome turns out to be less expected than an infinite war on making each others life horrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The animosity begins

**Author's Note:**

> A general work notes:  
> More-or-less than a week ago I checked ao3 for Sub-Zero/Scorpion fics. I was prepared for wild AUs, even wilder ideas, a lot of hate/love relationships, but all I found was handful of works, mislabelled Teen Wolf, and dubcon. Time to repair that. For good start: the clichest of cliches: a modern AU. Retail jobs! Big city that nobody is native to! Floristas and baristas and whatever else appears in modern AUs! Prepare yourself.
> 
> A few notes for a whole work:  
> Main characters are between 25 and 35 years old, unless stated otherwise.  
> Nobody was learnt to fight, but most of characters still have their canonical powers. Let's call it domestic fantasy.  
> Character relationships are based on MK9 and MKX storyline, plus a few things were a bit altered to fit in more characters.  
> Tags will be updated with each chapter.  
> There will be slash. Later. Already tagged b/c well, it's better to know what you are getting yourself into.

Flowers are easy. They don’t complain, they don’t protest, they don’t fight against what you do with them. Just put a bunch of these… weird green roots… a few tulips, or roses, or whatever together, fluff it up, decorate it, decorate it some more, wrap it in paper or a net and voila! A bouquet’s ready!

Oh, his customers’ reactions were often interesting. They watched with a mix of disbelief and unhealthy fascination as he worked. He had heard uncountable times: “Why are the flowers burnt?” or “Are all those blades necessary?”, but usually one dour look shooed them away. Yet, all of them paid. His shifts were the busiest and made the biggest income. He hadn’t even been working at this place for two months when he started receiving piles upon piles of commissions. A wedding bouquet for a couple of knife nuts. Funeral wreaths with special requests for as many metal shards and blood stains on them as they could accommodate. And the last one: decorations for some asshat right-wing politician. Combination of red roses and bewilderingly realistic toy firearms. Hadn’t that guy’s note been so enraging, it would be a pleasant work. But the note was enclosed and he already felt the temperature rising around him.

He was even somewhat grateful when a customer interrupted him melting one of the plastic guns and sticking a stem into it. Any positive feelings evaporated as he started preparing his bouquet.  
“Make it cold resistant” the customer said first. So he did.  
“Can it be simpler? I don’t want anyone to cut themselves.” So he removed a dagger.  
Still, the customer’s eyes grew bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter. Pretty noticeable when someone’s eyes blow bright blue, and the rest of their face is covered with a huge scarf and a hood. Even masked, the man vibrated with disgust. The scarf was draped on the man’s coat, letting the florist see only part of the writing crossing it. “Sub-Zero”. So Sub-Zero he would be.  
“What’s so disgusting, huh?” the florist grumbled under his breath. The customer stood up a bit straighter, and his voice grew huskier.  
“Nothing” he replied icily. “Just… uhm… can you remove that scorpion sting?”  
“No.”  
“For Elder Gods’ sake,” the customer snapped, “I want to woo that girl, not to poison her or stab her until she stops moving! Forget it, Scorpion!”. Next thing the florist registered, there was no Sub-Zero or Over-Thousand in the shop, just a solid ice statue of the ex-customer. The real man’s figure reflected in another building’s window, hurrying away.  
The florist knocked the statue down and it immediately crumbled. He swore loudly. He hadn’t been that insulted since that morning.

When he sat down to finish the guns and roses deco for the campaign rally in that day’s evening, he reminded himself that note, attached by a the politician himself. “A good old rock’n’roll vibe, especially for my good American voters! Don’t try to get it, man, you’re too nip to get it!”. The only missing thing was a “hur-dur” written underneath, alongside with a signature. Oh, fuck you, Mr. Put-a-gun-in-my-ass-and-tell-me-you’re-Sonya-Blade. Fuck you, you Subby loser as well. Fuck this shit –

The florist built himself up so much that it was not the smoke or the flickering flames, but the fire alarm that woke him up. The interior was burning. He swore even more hideously than before and grabbed a fire extinguisher. Soon, the whole shop was covered with a thick layer of foam. The flames still danced around his arms, around his hands. He tried to call them out as he calculated the collateral damage.

Most of the flowers – both planted and cut – were at least singed. All wreaths and prepared bouquets– lost. The entire commission for the campaign rally – completely ruined. The shop’s interior - burned. Then he looked at the ceiling and said the longest set of curses he had ever thought up.  
He was doomed.

 


	2. The fight begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his short and rather uninteresting career as a barista, Liang never expected to have his work day disturbed like this. And there is nothing positive in this statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long break, but, as usually, life happened. Well, mostly finals and moving out from a dorm and work happened. Anyway, enjoy.  
> Ah, and remember when I stated nobody was taught to fight? Well, it does not mean they don't try.

It took him a few days to find that bastard. He tried to track obvious leads – there were few explanations for puddles of melting ice on the pavement in September – but it wasn’t the most effective method in the crowded downtown of a pretty big city. He almost lost him. But then, stopped by a stranger exiting a coffee shop, he glanced inside and… there he was.

A barista was collecting dirty cups near a window, looking around with blue-shinning eyes. He had similar movements and body build. Scorpion couldn’t recognize the face, but even the last time he only saw icy eyes peeking out of the hood's shadow. Indeed, the fucker’s shirt looked like it was about to tear apart on his broad shoulders, ice from his eyes was softly beaming on his high cheekbones –

– the florist walked in, ordered the only reasonable-sounding blend in the menu, and waited. 

*

He was sure he would never even consider taking this job, had he enough luxury to afford being picky. The chain coffee shop he worked at was too hot, too loud, and the stream of customers seemed to be worse than an endless avalanche. After a few weeks, he still managed to burn himself while preparing hot beverages. Sometimes, he accidentally changed them into iced ones. To top it off, he couldn’t get the manager to order him a work shirt in the right size. He was stuck with a way-too-tight shirt, and tried to convince himself that glances from some of the customers were not lustful. But sometimes, he couldn’t ignore when some people just… glared.

Two hours ago, that man marched in, ordered a double (or was it triple? He was only eavesdropping) espresso with chili syrup and sat in the corner. For hours, he wouldn’t even touch his drink, and did not turn his eyes from the barista for even a single second. His eyes were burning. Literary burning. The barista almost expected the stranger’s beard or the giant scorpion print on his shirt to burst into flames as well.

„Hey, Liang, do you know that scorpion guy?” one of his coworker asked.

“First time I’ve ever seen him.” The barista shrugged.

“You seem quite unfussed by a random man trying to set you on fire from distance.”

“Jade,” another coworker cut in, “that almost sounds like we didn’t have to deal with random assholes on a daily basis”. The women laughed it off, forgetting about the barista.

The minutes passed. The man didn’t move an inch.

“That Scorpion’s quite persistent for a stranger.” Jade remarked once again, and added, with the slightest shade of sarcasm: “Do you want me to check the tables in that corner?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Somebody has to clean that part anyway.”

“I’ll be on it in a second” he muttered.

“Oh, adorable! But think about damage costs and pay cuts if it turns out he started something because of you.”

Liang looked up at her, only slightly frowning. “Aren’t you exaggerating? Or… ah, a repayment for the time your roommate’s sister visited, correct? Mileena, was it?” he half-smiled as his coworker grimaced at the memory.

“Oh, that was cold.” she hissed, took a tray, and went to collect dirty dishes. At some point, she walked up to the scorpion guy, and they chatted for a while.

„Did he tell you anything?” Liang inquired as soon as she returned behind a counter.

“Vengeance, flowers, ice doubles,” Jade listed, “killing, icky espresso, and that nobody shall wrong a… Cherry Rogu?” she snorted. “A lunatic. Probably has no idea who you are, even if he had me for a second with all those ice puns. Still, I’ll count it as favor repaid.” She winked. The barista stared at her, eyes squinted. She cracked a smile.

“Don’t worry, you’re a big boy with big snowballs, you can handle one stalker.” Liang was still staring at her and shaking his head. “And, em…. One quarter of the favor repaid?”

“That could – “

The stalker appeared right behind Jade, bathed in a fire aureola like an infernal wrath. The bags with coffee blends on a counter started sizzling and burning on edges. Jade whimpered and waved, trying to put the beginnings of a fire down. Liang slipped by her and stood a bit more uptight, seemingly unimpressed.

“Courage is not among your virtues” the scorpion guy declared, “but it would imply you possess any.”

“I do.” Liang remarked coldly. He hardly had an idea what provoked the man or what he was referring to, but he played along. “Cautiousness is among them.”

“Cautiousness may be cowardice painted in proud colors.” The man moved a bit, setting himself in a fighting stance. “But it’s too late to deny what was already proven. You will pay for your arrogance!”

Behind his back, Liang heard a muttered “Call the cops?”.

He murmured “I’ll handle it” and stepped forward. He felt strings of frost embedding his hands, but he tried to ignore it. The priority now was to think up how to handle it quickly and without a confrontation. In the corner of his eye he saw a manager emerging from her room. For a few seconds, they stared at each other.

“May I take a break now?” he blurted out.

The manager nodded and said something between “no problem” and “explain yourself”. Not waiting for anyone’s reaction, the barista grabbed the scorpion guy by the forearm and with one graceful move dragged him through the door to the backroom.

*

The doors closed behind them with a loud clang.

“Have you inhaled too much smoke?” he reprimand the intruder. The scorpion guy didn’t reply, but the flames on his arms danced a bit livelier. Liang thought of all the supplements, the racks they were stored on, and other equipment that was in the same room as them. Well, that was not the wisest move. They had hid from the public eye, but it still was the wrong place to deal with an eager to fight madman on fire. At least the backdoor shouldn’t be closed.  
The barista already went through the long list of his debts, and couldn’t remind any moneylender who employed fire-holding thugs. Furthermore, that speech implied some personal matter, something reliably fresh, so anything connected to Bi Han was out of question. But then what was it?

“I have no idea how I wronged you.” he stated, still wondering how he should navigate the other man to lead both of them outside if a brawl started. “I assume it’s not any form of debt, you would have mentioned it by now. You might have mistaken me for somebody else. How did they wrong you? Is this some form of revenge – “

“You do owe me!” the Scorpion seethed. “But repaying with the exact same currency does not seem like a suitable revenge,” he growled and attacked.

Liang managed to set an ice shield and slid between the racks. He heard the enemy collide with the ice wall and an enraged howl when he realized he got stuck to it. The barista made it to the backdoor, reached the handle and pulled it.  
The door was locked. It was with the second security lock, the one he didn’t have keys for. They were stuck here with all those coffee shop supplies.

A ball of fire flew over Liang’s shoulder and landed on the wall, blackening it. The enemy broke through the ice wall, and with an incomprehensible yell threw forward a thick rope with a metal hook tied to its end. (Where had he hid it? Did he make it on the go, while glued to ice?!) Liang didn’t manage to dodge, and the rope coiled around his ankles, binding them. With one strong pull, the foe knocked him down, as well as a few racks the barista fell on. He was being pulled towards the Scorpion, dragged on a floor covered with a mess of melting ice, a dusting of instant coffee, and scattered coffee beans. As soon as he was within reach, the Scorpion kicked him in the stomach. Liang gasped, struggling to make breakfast stay in its place. Yet, he managed to grab a leg, blocking another kick. A lump of ice formed around it and in two shakes entrapped the whole lower part of the other man’s body.

The Scorpion grumbled and raised his hands. Smoke filled the room, a whiff of burnt supplies throttling the barista. With sheer willpower he stifled a wail. Everything he could see was set on fire.

Luckily, the fire alarm set in. The artificial rain fell, extinguishing a dozen of flames. The barista used it to freeze the rest of the opponent, leaving only his face free, as long as icicles covering his lush beard were not counted.

Liang crawled on his knees and panted. Something in his stomach hurt dully. A broken rib? Would go well with that torn work shirt…

He heard people knocking. The manager, Jade, the rest of staff and some customers, all scarred and yelling. He wondered why they didn’t come in, until he spotted melted hinges and lock on the door. What a –

“What the hell is going on?!” the barista cried out. “You come here, try to provoke a fight, then start it yourself, then ruin the store, and all that without even a hint about what your deal is?! What kind of daft act is this, that revenge of yours?”

“You will lose your job, as did I, thanks to your doing,” the foe replied, with a scary glow in his blank-white eyes, “and then I will add to it. Oh, how much will Il add to it.”

“What did that me even do?” he yelped.

“You know what you did, Sub Zero.”

Liang stiffened, all his wounds and fatigue suddenly negligible. “Where did you hear that name?” he inquired dully.

“I read it, embroider on your own chest“ the Scorpion told him and continued, with tone going more bitter with every word. “Do not put on airs, I saw you use your ice clones with my own eyes, who else could have turned my life into ruin with all that…” He squinted at the trap he was stuck in. “...ice?”

The barista nodded slowly. “You may talk about my brother, but that’s impossible” he stuttered, his eyes fixed on his hands. “He’s dead. He’s been dead for over a year. You… dishonor the dead… family… you…”

His already almost-white arms turned pale blue. The moisture from air sublimated above him, forming a maul. He caught it thoughtlessly, ready to hit the helpless opponent with all the strength he had left, but saw no one in front of him. There was just the melting ice shell, filled with water and dust.

The Scorpion guy disappeared in thin air, leaving Liang in the middle of a flooded battlefield, and ruined supplies for two weeks of running a coffee shop.


	3. The first aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Johnny Cage's movies everybody leave the fight like it had no physical or psychological impact on them. So bad it doesn't work this way in the real world.

He didn’t register anything that happened after the police interrogation. Last thing he had in his memory was Jade telling him he needed to wind down. He followed her blindly, too lost in his suspicions and worries to pay attention to his surroundings. Only now he started noticing faded signals from the real world. The lights were a bit too flashy, the music a bit too loud. People swayed and shimmered like a mirage, laughed and chattered like wrangling birds. It had been a while since he last was in such an unnerving place.  
“Hey, Liang! Kuai Liang!” Jade waved her hand in front of his face. “Earthrealm claims you back and wants to pour booze into you. What you want?”  
“Anything but booze”, he mumbled. She frowned, disgruntled, and left to make an order. He was taken to a club and sat down by a table in the most remote and quiet part of it. Liang tensed up, ready to leave without a word of explanation, but in a flash he realised he wasn't strong enough to stand up and make his way through the crowd. Netherrealm take it, he should had just gone back to the flat…

A few unbearably long minutes later, they sat over two beer bottles. Jade started her drink and said something about mint syrup. Liang was only able to fix his sight on a green, glossy bottle surface and the reflections of violently shifting lights on it.  
“So…” Jade said between sips, “...do you know what that Scorpion guy’s deal was?”  
“Weren’t you in earshot while I was interrogated about it?” Liang asked, still glaring at the light play on the glass.  
“Yeah, yeah, but was there anything not suitable for their ears?”  
“Nothing you should know about”, he muttered, breaking his stillness by moving his bottle aside.  
“Oh, come on, I just led your dumb ass to a safe harbour with as much cheap alcohol you could ask for!”  
“No one asked you to.” He looked up at his coworker. “...why did you even take me here?”  
“Repaying the debt, remember?” she cracked a smile. ”And… well, I’ve never seen you so upset. You didn’t look as you were in… the mood to go somewhere alone, and I had no clue where you live. Reading the sentient ice block is not my favourite pastime, so sorry if you’d rather go stare at penguins at the ZOO. Plus, I’m way too gay to take you to my house.”  
“I’m way too gay to - ” he got stuck on a pun, so Jade quickly filled the silence:  
“So yeah, we’re a couple of gays drinking stress off in a bar, cheers!”  
Liang stared at her for solid ten seconds.  
“Cheers?” She repeated hesitantly.  
“Frankly, I’d rather not drink and just go home.” He started raising from the chair. It was more difficult with his sore muscles and still fresh bruisers than he felt comfortable with. Shaking legs didn’t make it any easier. He let himself sit for a few seconds before he tried again. This time, he succeeded. “Thank you for the thought and your concern, though.”

Jade got up after him, stuttering with bafflement. “No, but - wait, why exactly - ” She put herself together and continued seamlessly, “...Okay, I’ll walk you back home.” As he squinted, she reached out and patted him on his sleeve.  
“Man, you just froze the table. And a few other random things on our way here,” she remarked with a hint of a hardly stopped snort. “Don’t expect me to trust you to walk down the street without freezing the whole city solid.”  
He leaped away from her touch, but then looked down on frost painting the tiles around his ice-covered shoes. Then, he looked on the smooth ice surface that used to be a steel table. 

He nodded.

 

It wasn’t late yet - the sky, barely visible through gaps between buildings, was barely changing from pink to warm navy. Kuai Liang led through the alleys and backstreets, at first still a bit shaky, but then more confidently. Jade kept up with his pace, trying to walk on par with him. They walked down the street in silence, steering clear between the evening crowd.  
Liang felt his body starting to work as usual: muscles shifting like well-adjusted clockwork, moves precise and firm. He was searching for a scorpion motif on the passersby clothes, and his fingers started itching every time he spotted a glimpse of a yellow fabric. However, he was able to think more clearly. As he was slowly getting out of shock, a growing remorse appeared. He could have been gentler, would it have helped if he was gentler?  
“I owe you an apology for my words, and an explanation” he piped up. To his relief, it helped to ease his anxiety a little.

“No, it’s okay“, Jade assured hurriedly with an uncannily mild tone for snarkiness incarnated.  
“No, you couldn’t have known I’m not keen on alcohol.” Or that the whole idea was horrible, but he kept it for himself.  
“You never learned to like it, got one hangover too many, or it’s some sort of trauma?”  
He bought some time for an answer by running through the street on the last seconds of a blinking green light. Jade ran after him.  
“Last time I drank was the day my brother passed away,” he explained, trying to keep his voice monotone. Jade’s face shrunk. ”One thing got associated with another. We were- I think that hadn’t we been drunk, we would have had better judgment about what was happening back then, and he - wouldn’t - .” He bit his tongue. His attempt to smoothly end the sentence was stuck on the hole in his memory.  
“I see.” Jade cut in with an uneasy tone.  
They left the downtown and walked into a frowsty street. The facades of apartment blocks were spotted with torn off plaster, pavements became cracked and littered. Even the smells and noises changed to more unnerving with their nastiness. Jade looked around heedfully.  
“Wait, you really live here?” she asked with disbelief. She had to be here for the very first time, Liang though not without some amusement.  
“Yes. The rent is low. Noob is never hungry.”  
“...who?”  
“My brother’s iguana.”  
“Was he a gamer?”  
“No.”  
They walked in a growing awkwardness.  
“You know,” she picked up the conversation, “I really hope they won’t kick you out for that fight. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve met since I got here, and yet you use “my business is my own’” like a mantra.”

He couldn’t help snorting.

“Seeing how locals behave, it’s not a big achievement,” he pointed out; Jade agreed.  
“I bet that Scorpion is born and raised here!” She deliberated with laugh.  
“For sure he acted like it. Look, my place is not far, I think I’ll make it there alone.”  
“Oh, you don’t want me to know where you live, hmm?” She winked. “Damn, you just ruined my plan to crash your parties and occupy your kitchen when you’re out the town.”  
“You would have to go through my roommates first. Plus they are too… invested in my personal life - “  
He was interrupted by a cell phone ring. He dug his smartphone out of his pocket and picked it up.  
“I am Enenra, you all await damnation in the depths of the Netherrealm abyss!” he heard from the speaker.  
“All right” Liang assured, corners of his lips slightly rising. Good old Smoke, Liang thought, he always knew when to come with help.  
“A roommate called,” he said aloud after disconnecting the call. “Noob made, to quote it, a hellish mess.” He glanced at his phone once again. “He released his food. I live right behind the corner, I - I’ll hurry now.”  
The sentence vanished in the air as he jog-trotted away, leaving a slim, almost unnoticeable track of thin ice on the pavement.  
“Aren’t iguanas herbivores?” Jade murmured under her breath. She turned to the movie poster with a grinning Johnny Cage, hanging on the wall they were just passing.  
“What is that man’s deal, for fuck’s sake?” she asked.  
Unfortunately, even legendary Johnny Cage didn't knew the answer.

 

“I have no idea what’s going on,” he confessed. Noob listened with reptilian patience, huddled on Liang’s pillow. The barista suppressed an impulse to grip the lizard's tail and got back to writing down his speculations in a notepad file  
He started immediately after returning to flat, in between carefully avoiding Sektor’s questions about getting out of his day schedule and Smoke’s bitter glances. So far he wrote down the most important data about his brother’s missions for Linkey before the Accident. He listed the foes he knew of. Now, time to analyze that Scorpion guy. He tried to visualize him. A human-shaped furious ball of fire. No, not the general feeling, but the person. Short, with awful clothes covering a muscular and appealing body. Awesome hair and well-kept beard covering a well-sculptured cheekbones. Eyes like two small burning coals -

He looked at the screen and slowly deleted the word ‘handsome’.

Now, abilities. Skill to create a makeshift weapon. Fire manipulation, fire resistance, teleportation. Extreme resistance to being reasoned with. He had already heard about such a power makeup. Was it at a class back at Linkey? Or already in that city? He focused on the faded memory of the lecturer’s voice and his reasoning.

“Yo, Young Sub-Zero!,” somebody called out. “Tundra!”

Liang managed to cut himself off from the usual noise. It was a bit easier with his roommates sitting in one spot on the floor, playing cards in weak light, tucked between bunk beds and walls. Well, almost, as they argued passionately over something, with Sektor making his usual routine of “The Grandmaster will learn about it”, Smoke declaring he will throw them all into hellfire the first chance he gets, and Cyrax sighing desperately enough to make everybody think he will die out of embarrassment in next ten seconds.

Unfortunately, they still wanted to interact.

“Tundra, can you hear it?” Cyrax looked up, and seeing Liang as lost in thought as before, he kicked the bed. Both Noob and Liang jerked their heads, and the man finally looked down with a perfectly bland expression. “He’s threatening to turn us into cyborgs again!”

“I don’t know what you have against the cyborgs.” Sektor protested, smoothing his whisker-like moustache with a thumb.  
“Remember when the Cyber Initiative tried turning the old man Hydra into a cyborg?” Cyrax kicked the bunk bed again, trying to force Liang into paying attention. “Tundra, you and Old Sub-Zero were there!”  
“Hydra volunteered!” Sektor threw his arm up in exclamation.  
“He said no Linkey citizen should be forced to die of old age.” Liang rectified.  
“Still no honored member of the community should be forced to leave the world that way!”  
“There was no force involved!” Sektor said indignantly.  
The barista frowned. Hadn’t the idea of the Cyber Initiative been abandoned, they would never have this conversation. Discussing the issue with Sektor, the biggest CI advocate and the Grandmaster’s son, was about as safe as pushing the community to inform the country authorities about Linkey’s existence.  
“He boils in the pitch pots of Shinnok’s otherworldly palace of restless wraiths, as you all will.”  
“Wow, so I choose between cyborgs and wraiths?” Cyrax raised his eyebrows. “Thanks for input, Smoke, it didn’t make me feel any better. Now shuffle.”  
As he watched Smoke unenthusiastically shuffling the deck, Liang realized he knew what the attacker was.

A wraith. The wraiths always leave a trail of fire and cinder while staying invisible in the middle of the destruction. He leaned against the wall, trying to recall the latest events in the city. He wasn’t exactly keeping up with the news, yet…  
...this is the XXIst century, and he should have thought of news websites earlier.

He started rummaging through the most credible portals, hacking in for a full access. Between murders, politics, and overemphasized celebrity opinions, he looked for clues. Something with fire. Something with an unknown perpetrator. Something…  
“... so forced vacation it is,” Sektor nagged. Liang tensed up.  
“Something happened at your job?” he asked cautiously.  
“Yeah, genius.” Sektor grimmanced. “Haven’t you read the news all week? The skyscraper I worked in got burnt to dust! DUST! And where did it start? In that useless flower shop on the ground floor! What sort of idiot starts a fire at a flower shop?!” He stared at Liang in provocation. “If it happened in Linkey, the Grandmaster wouldn’t leave the responsible ones alive!”

...The skyscraper.

Deaf to the attack, Liang looked up the fire at a few unconnected sources. All of them claimed the fire came from the flower shop located on the pavement level. It was unknown for the press who had a shift that day. Also, the fire blasted only a few lower floors, and the damage was evaluated as fixable.  
He googled the flower shop. Its website was filled with photos of uncanny bouquet commissions. In one of the photos he spotted something resembling a man in a yellow apron, arranging flowers.

“Well, at least it’s something to start with.” Liang admitted to the iguana, and he could swear the reptile hummed approvingly.

 

The soft light of the sole table lamp slid over wriggling fingers. Clumps of soil were falling down, among the flowerpots arranged on the floor in an even row, going from the table legs into the darkness. On the other side of the table, the other row of slightly bigger pots awaited their turn. In an empty room, they were safe from being kicked or broken by an unwary step.  
He was working in silence, with an inhuman focus. If he lost his concentration, he would start remembering, just like earlier that day. He had spent hours curled on sofa, trying to silence the wraith’s whispers. It prompted: come back and finish the work. Burn down the whole building. Finish that handsome, too-polite service worker. End all the matters keeping you here. Lose yourself and start from scratch once again, with no friends or foes to interfere. Just flames, dust, and grief.  
But he, Hanzo, knew better. He had to remind himself that he knew better, even if his hand slipped and his judgment failed him at times. He had to keep himself on guard from any foul move.  
Cut!  
A cut-off root of a replanted fern fell between the soil scattered on the old newspaper covering the table. He cursed. He cut off the wrong root. In no time his hand was set aflame, almost setting the plant on fire. He quelled it and sighed.  
Yes, he did know better. No matter how many times Takeda tries to get in. No matter how many times Kenshi knocks on the window with his damned sword. No matter how many times that businessman with a weird name (Woodland? Woolay? Woegjeghbf probably) tries to get him work for his company. He didn’t intend to leave his flat and see another human being until he calmed down.  
And it wouldn't be anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, 'sentient ice block' is the new term for the cryomancers, and better don't use it around them unless you want to be turned into no-longer-sentient ice block.


End file.
